


Those Most Dear

by withmyradio



Category: Star Trek 2009, Star Trek Into Darkness - Fandom, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:42:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withmyradio/pseuds/withmyradio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After surviving the terrorist attack that destroyed the Kelvin Memorial Archive in London, Alia finds herself captive of the criminal responsible. He saved her life... And now controls it. Whatever else he's plotting, he needs information only Alia possesses to carry out his plans, information she doesn't remember and would never willingly divulge if she did. Her only hope to save herself, her loved ones and the countless strangers he seems hell-bent on murdering is to find the man inside the monster. But can she find him without losing herself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Title:** Those Most Dear   
 **Author:**  With My Radio  
 **Movie:** Star Trek Into Darkness  
 **Spoilers:**  Deviates from the movie after its first half hour, but will definitely spoil the movie's premise if you keep reading.  
 **Pairing:**  John Harrison (Khan)/OFC  
 **Categories:**  Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort **  
Rating:** The highest you've got. This story is not for children, and will probably include elements of  **noncon/dubcon**. I'll give specific warnings prior to those chapters.

xXx

**1**

The first thing she knew in the darkness was the sound. It crashed over Alia like a tidal wave, the roar of an entire edifice crumbling, collapsing from its foundation, the noise so all-encompassing that her mind couldn't begin to comprehend it. Its loudness was so far beyond her ability to process it that it was almost silence, almost deafening. Next was the screaming. The steel supports of the Kelvin Memorial Archive cried out in agony as they were bent and twisted, and the people around her cried out in agony for the same reason. She was screaming, she knew she was screaming, but she could not hear herself. She could not imagine that anyone could hear her.

When the noise receded there was nothing except the pain. In every synapse, in every nerve, in every cell, it sparked and spread. It burned through her, seared her from the inside out, so bright it nearly illuminated the blackness inside her mind, or perhaps her mind was incandescent with the sensation. She glowed with it. She wanted to writhe in anguish but her body was no longer under her control; it was beholden to the pain, and nothing else was real. Alia  _was_  pain. She existed only to feel it.

If she existed at all.

Suddenly, she was gasping. Her lungs ached as though she hadn't breathed in days and only just remembered it was something she ought to do. At the same time her vision cut in. It replaced the darkness with light and colors so vivid her eyes stung and teared with the effort of seeing them. She was screaming still, or again, but once more there was no sound. Just the feeling of her throat, raw and aching, spasming over and over as she willed her lips to move.

"I wouldn't attempt it," a voice said. Deep, cold, emotionless, it sent a tremor of terror through her. There was something about it that reminded her of that first tidal wave of sound, of the world collapsing in on itself.

With great effort, Alia turned her head in search of the speaker. At first she could see only an indistinct shadow at the edge of a pool of blinding light, but as her eyes adjusted he came into sharper focus, standing tall and motionless at the foot of the hospital bed she was lying on. Her first thought was that he looked exactly the way his voice sounded. Arrogant, remote, menacing. And like his voice, the sight of him before her filled her with a mindless fear she could not name.

"I wouldn't attempt to speak," he clarified. "You will only hurt yourself." There was a sneer in his words, as though he disdained such weakness.

Well. She wasn't exactly overjoyed about it either. What he said was true, and in all honesty she hurt enough already. She nodded weakly. He rewarded her with what she supposed must pass for a smile, slicing across his face like a blade, sharp and dangerous.

It suited him.

He approached her, his bearing military, a tube of dark red liquid in his hand. Alia watched as he inserted it into the I.V., watched as it slowly turned the clear fluid… Not pink. Whatever the liquid was it did not seem to dilute or weaken as it mixed with the saline. Rather, it overwhelmed it until the entire infuser was filled with something that looked remarkably like blood.

It frightened her but seemed to satisfy him. He nodded once before looking down at her, mouth set, oddly pale eyes hard.

"This will be painful," he told her flatly, and not as though he was sorry about it. "Do try not to scream, if you can help it."

She couldn't, but then again, no one could hear her anyway.

xXx

Time passed; she wasn't sure how much. She fell in and out of consciousness, either dreaming of suffering or living it. Alia had no medical training, and no idea of what he'd put in her I.V., but she imagined the liquid was caustic, cauterizing her veins, because that was the only explanation she could think of for the sensations she felt. It was like being cremated alive. A few times, she wondered if the pain might kill her. Other times, she hoped.

It didn't. At some point, she awoke to the feeling of a cold hand touching her cheek, her forehead. There was no gentleness in the contact. It had the carelessness of the way a person might touch some _thing_ , not some _one_ , and it made her shiver. Her eyes snapped open.

"Good, you're awake."

"Oh," she said, her voice nothing more than a harsh whisper. It hurt, but that was a given at this point. Everything hurt. "Am I?"

Again, that sharp and slicing smile. "For now."

And again, the terror. She struggled against it, refused to allow it to overwhelm her. "Where am I? Who are you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pressed a button on the side of her bed and the head rose, forcing Alia into a sitting position. Her body cried out in protest but she clamped her lips together firmly. Now that she had some semblance of a voice, she would be damned if she'd allow him the satisfaction of hearing her sob the way she wanted to. Despite the fact that he was apparently helping her, she knew instinctively that he was not her friend.

"Drink this," he ordered, holding a cup to her mouth. She followed his instructions, gulping desperately and reveling in the feel of the cold water soothing her desiccated throat. She drank and drank and drank and felt she could never ever satisfy her thirst.

"Slowly," he admonished, "Slowly, or you'll make yourself sick. Enough now. Enough."

He pulled the cup away, pausing only to swipe his finger across her lower lip, wiping away a few droplets that had spilled. The taste left behind was faintly bitter.

"Who are you?" She repeated her previous question, desperately trying to remember what had happened before that sound, that awful sound that still echoed in her mind. There was something familiar about him, but beyond that, there was nothing.

As before, he did not respond. Instead, he asked "Do you remember?"

"Remember what?" she retorted, buying herself time to organize her thoughts.

"Anything."

"No. Yes. I remember…" Roaring. Screaming. Burning. "A collapse? No… An explosion, something… A building, collapsing into the ground."

He nodded, face expressionless. "Yes. The Kelvin Memorial Archive has been destroyed."

"Yes. Oh god." A sudden realization struck her. "I was… I was late, I was so late and I should have… I should have been at work when it happened. I could have been killed. Should have been."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. They were like chips of ice, the palest blue, and cold. "As far as anyone else knows, you were."

She squeezed her eyes shut against his knowing expression, anything to avoid his hateful gaze, considering his words. They confirmed her suspicion that she wasn't in hospital, despite the bed and I.V. Further, they heavily implied that the world at large believed her dead. Her memory of the collapse was still fractured, all sound and sensation, no vision, but she could imagine it. In all that rubble, in all that chaos… Some people would never be found.

One memory was becoming clearer and clearer, however, rising to the surface above all others. This man staring down at her, feeling her throat for a pulse, lifting her with disconcerting ease and carrying her to safety. She could recall him moving unerringly even through the pitch darkness of all the smoke and debris. There had been no panic, no surprise on his face. Just an intensity she couldn't… It was too vague. She couldn't remember it specifically enough to understand what it might mean.

"You… Saved me," she said, even though that wasn't quite the case.

"I took you from the rubble, yes." That was more accurate. Alia didn't believe for a moment that he'd truly  _rescued_  her. He'd taken her, hidden her away, and allowed everyone who might care to think she'd died in that blast. This was not heroism.

"Why?" she demanded, and for the first time her voice sounded strong. "What do you want from me?"

Something in his face changed. Until now he'd been blank, emotionless, but her words kindled an anger in him that caused his eyes to flash and his jaw to clench.

"You know something. Something I. Must. Know." He leaned closer, close enough that she could hear his breath, feel it ghosting across her face. His voice deepened and he bit off every word as though he wanted to spit each one at her. "You will tell me, or I will kill everyone you've ever met or cared about."

**TBC**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

It wasn't that she wasn't frightened. She was, of course she was, because it was so obvious he meant every word he said. His strange eyes, nearly colorless like ancient glass, were no longer cold but burned into hers with unholy intensity. Alia knew enough to recognize the fervency of a true believer. Just as she knew, absolutely knew, that he made not threats but vows.

It was terrifying, not to mention absurd. Here he was, threatening death and destruction upon anyone who'd ever looked at her, more or less, and all for the sake of information she was certain she did not, could not have. Her memory might be nothing more than a jumbled mess of sensation and sound, but she felt things. She knew things. And one of the things she knew down to her very soul was that whatever she had done at the Kelvin Memorial Archive had been remarkable only for its utter unimportance. In all the universe- in every possible universe- there was no way anyone had ever trusted her with knowledge worth killing for.

She burst into laughter; she couldn't help it. Between the terror and absurdity, her options were either to laugh or cry, and her pride would not allow the latter. So she laughed until her already aching body was wracked with shooting pain, until the ribs she knew must be broken dug into her lungs and forced all the breath from her body.

He looked… Surprised, then furious. Obviously he hadn't anticipated this reaction and was not pleased with it. His expression darkened, brows lowering, mouth twisting in a sullen line. In a movement so swift she barely saw it, he took her arms in a punishing grip, fingers digging into flesh that was already bruised. He was preternaturally strong; she felt that he could snap her bones as easily as she could snap her fingers.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked, voice suddenly soft and deadly. "Do you believe I am lying about what I will do?"

She shook her head, laughter fading into a tired half-smile. "No. I know you're not."

"Know this: I will find your family. I will find your friends. And their families. And their friends… As many people as I must, I will kill them all until you give me what I require."

"And if I refuse?" Because she would refuse, of course she would, even if by some miracle she knew something worth knowing.

"Then I will make you watch," he said, moving one hand from her arm to her face. He held her that way, forcing her to look directly at him and nowhere else. "I will make you watch, and I will make you hurt… I will make you beg. And in the end, I will have what I need."

"I don't doubt your resolve," she began, refusing to blink as she stared into his strange, severe face. "But I don't know anything."

"You'll know it when you watch me crush the life out of those most dear to you," he told her quietly.

This time, she laughed out of bitterness. "Those most dear to me?" She tried to think of them then, tried to call their faces to mind for the comfort. There were people she loved, she knew, people who loved her. But she couldn't remember them, couldn't remember anything. Just the ground disappearing beneath her feet, just the pain of a thousand nerve endings set on fire, just him, carrying her away.

"Those most dear to me worked at the Kelvin Memorial Archive."

For the briefest moment, she could see a slight twitch of his lips, an almost-flinch. If her attention hadn't been focused on him so acutely, she might have missed it, but it was and she didn't. She felt triumph. That single reaction was her greatest victory, because it meant something about what she'd said had affected him. And then the moment passed, and his face was closed and blank once more.

"I hope for your sake that's not true." Reaching for her again, he stroked her cheek almost tenderly, and the feel of his long, cold fingers trailing across her skin was more unsettling than anything else he'd said or done, a different kind of threat. She shuddered. "If it is, it will be down to you and I… And I know more about inflicting pain than you know about withstanding it."

He walked away, back ramrod straight, and she thought to herself that whatever else her captor might be, so far he was not a liar.

xXx

She was in his arms, the strength of them almost crushing her, her broken body jolting with every step he took. It should have hurt. Everything hurt… Everything except this. She felt as though she were trying to escape the shell of her flesh, and her vision doubled until she could see both his face staring down at her and, from a distance, herself in his arms. He stopped running, slapped her hard across the face. "No. No!"

Her first person perspective faded away, and what he held was no longer her. She was outside that body. She was dead. She was… Relieved.

He lifted his head and met the eyes of her ghostly self. His voice shook with frustration as he called out to her: "If you think dying will save you, you are wrong."

xXx

With a cry, Alia tried to sit up in bed. It was impossible; there was an unyielding weight on her shoulders pressing her into the mattress. She thrashed against it, flailing in the darkness, lungs gasping for air that seemed to be absent. Her panic consumed her until she choked on it, until she was sure she would suffocate.

"Be still. Breathe," his voice ordered, low and resonant. She could feel it vibrating deep in her own chest.

"There's nothing stopping you. Breathe."

She had no power to disobey that commanding tone. Her lips parted and she inhaled, her body suddenly light and giddy with the relief of oxygen. Another breath and another… Each one easier than the last. The ache in her lungs subsided; she could feel her heart rate decreasing every second, freefalling from the peak of her frenzy. For the first time since she'd heard it, she felt gratitude for that voice which normally unnerved her.

Not that she would thank him, of course. His face was far too close to hers. His hands were heavy on her shoulders, heavy and warm, and regardless of the fact that he may have saved her life- twice- she could not bear to have him so near. She was afraid again.

"Don't touch me," she said, the words shaky to her own ears. And yet, to her surprise, he pulled away.

He stared at her for a long moment. "You were calling out in your sleep. I ought to have sedated you."

The thought of being any more helpless than she was already was terrifying. "No! Please. I- I'll be quiet, I won't wake you again."

"I require little sleep," he informed her, dismissively. "Unlike you. So, shall I drug with your consent or without it? It makes no difference to me."

That information was… Not comforting. But it was useful, Alia supposed, to understand exactly what she was dealing with. There was too much she didn't know, and he was the greatest unknown of all. All she could be sure of was that he was responsible for the attack that nearly cost her her life. And God help her, he was the one with the power. Obviously he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted… And for some reason he believed she was the key.

She wanted to ask him  _why_  but knew he'd never answer. She wanted to protest the tube of light green sedative he inserted into the I.V. infuser but knew he'd never listen. The liquid dripped into the saline, and she began to feel the effects almost immediately.

"You were carrying me," she murmured as a quiet languor stole through her body.

"Yes."

"I died."

He didn't answer immediately, perhaps because he'd grown blurry around the edges. "Do not mistake these dreams for memories. Your memories will return, and your dreams may trigger them, but they are not one and the same."

They felt the same to her, but she didn't tell him that.

"It doesn't matter what I remember," she began. She was distressed to hear her voice was gently slurred. "I'll never remember what you want me to because I've never known it."

"You have no idea what memories are locked inside your mind."

She shook her head, which was now swimming. Every word was a struggle. "I know… whatever you want… Isn't there."

"I intend to interrogate you in the morning," he said. "You will break. Everyone does."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Those last few words spoken before she'd collapsed into a drugged and dreamless sleep haunted Alia as she awoke.

_"You will break. Everyone does."_

She closed her eyes against the hot rush of tears that had apparently just been waiting for her to gain consciousness before attempting to fall, which she would not allow. The fact was, she was afraid. Terrified, as terrified as he could possibly have wanted her to be. The night before, under sedation, it hadn't quite seemed real, but in the harsh light of day it was all she could think of. He'd promised to hurt her, and she'd believed him. She knew he'd be good at it. Not just good. Superlative…  _Imaginative_. There were so many ways to hurt a human being, not all of them physical, and she suspected he knew each and every one of them.

For a moment, she forced herself to remember the feel of his hands on her. There was something compelling about his fingers on her skin, something dark and inexplicable. His hands were strong, too strong, and cold, and she'd felt the knowledge in them even when he touched her accidentally, or with apparent gentleness. He knew how to break her with those hands. She knew he would do it without a second thought.

No. It was worse than that. He would break her over and over and over again, he would have to, because she didn't know whatever it was he wanted to know and he was far too focused, far too driven, to ever give up. So he would have no choice but to hurt her, to keep hurting her, until… What? Until he killed her? Somehow she suspected he'd never be that kind.

"Stop it," she whispered fiercely. "You are not going to convince yourself that your death is the best case scenario. You are going to open your eyes, get out of bed and find a way out of here."

In a strange way, this admonition seemed to actually make her feel better, gave her a sense of control in this uncontrollable situation. She wondered if she habitually talked to herself.

"Open your eyes. Don't just look,  _see_."

She took her own advice, sitting up in bed with less difficulty than she'd expected. Her body ached, yes, all her muscles and even her bones, but after what she'd experienced since the collapse she hardly noticed it. Moving her hands over herself, she tested each of her limbs in turn. A few painful bruises remained, especially on her shoulders where he had held her down, but they appeared days old instead of merely hours. Even her ribs, which just yesterday had felt broken beyond repair, seemed content to allow her to breathe without the accustomed agony.

It was almost miraculous, and it motivated her further. She'd be damned if she'd allow her captor to injure her all over again just as she was finally free of the pain she'd been living with for… Some unknown but interminable period of time.

Carefully, she removed the I.V. from her arm and slid to the edge of the bed, turning so that she could put her feet on the floor. She felt weak, a little groggy from the sedative he'd forced on her, but overall she thought she was strong enough to stand. There was nothing for it but to try. She braced her hands against the bed and slowly shifted her weight to her legs. They shook, unsteady as those of a newborn foal, but she didn't fall. It was almost pathetic how accomplished the simple act of standing made her feel… But considering the circumstances, she'd take what she could get.

From her new upright vantage point it was much easier to see the layout of the room. There was literally nothing to it. Empty aside from her bed, a chair and the I.V., the only interesting aspect was that it had no windows and no doors.

"No windows and no doors… What are you?" she murmured to herself, thinking. Obviously her captor was able to get in and out. Obviously he'd brought her here somehow. Which meant that…

The wall directly in front of her disappeared.

xXx

"What are you doing out of bed?" he demanded, stepping into the room. As always, his resonant voice sent a shiver through her, as though it had been engineered to instill her with fear.

That fear became ever more insistant as he stalked towards her. She caught a brief glimpse of an empty bunker-like area beyond where she was being held before the wall reformed, its edges rippling with a bright blue light before regaining their solid appearance. It was now obvious that she was in a cell with an opaque forcefield for a wall... And that information would surely be useful in the future, if only she could convince herself she had one. It was difficult to do so with him standing furious before her, face harsh and eerily beautiful, posture stiff and perfect.

"I-" she began, uncertain of exactly what to say. Before, from her sickbed, she'd known he was tall, but she hadn't felt his size the way she did now.

He was so close, too close, close enough that she could smell the clean, spicy essence of his skin. He towered over her and overwhelmed the space with his powerful build and presence. His eyes scanned her from head to toe before returning to meet hers, and there was something in them… Something she couldn't name. She was suddenly, horribly aware of her body, horribly conscious that she wore nothing but a thin and almost certainly translucent gown.

And then, of course, she realized he must have been the one to put her in it, which didn't help at all.

Grabbing her arm, he dragged her to the bed before placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to sit. She could feel bruises in the shape of his fingers blooming on her forearm and the weight of his heavy hands holding her to the mattress as she looked up into his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, angry with herself for the way her voice shook. She knew she needed to lie and hoped, for her sake, that she was good at it. "I just… Needed to stretch, I don't know how long I've been in bed but… I needed to move."

"Two weeks," he said, releasing her shoulders, fingers unintentionally grazing her collarbone. Why were his hands so warm? In all her memories they'd been cold… He'd been cold, and she preferred it that way.

"Two weeks," he repeated, "during which all of my other endeavors have been put on hold, and many opportunities have been missed. My patience, such as it is, has worn thin. So, shall we begin?"

On the one hand, she was pleased that nursing her had prevented him from focusing on other tasks. Presumably that meant some lives had been saved by her weakness. On the other, the fact that he'd been willing to forgo those opportunities meant that he considered her a priority, which was not something she wanted to be.

She gave him a wry glance. "Somehow I suspect that question was purely rhetorical."

He smirked, nearly amused, she thought. "You are more intelligent than you look."

"Oh," she said, trying to remember. "I'm not sure how I look. Other than unintelligent, apparently."

"Enough." He made an impatient gesture with his hands. "Our time grows short."

He turned the full force of his strange eyes upon her. They were an odd gray-green at the moment, bright in his pale face, his dark hair falling over his forehead and making them seem even brighter by contrast. She shivered; he unnerved her, terribly, and she disliked the sensation. She knew she could either allow him to cow her, or she could attempt to mold the situation to her liking. It was uncertain how successful the latter option might be, but the former was untenable.

Alia took a deep breath. "I would like to discuss the terms of my interrogation."

"There are no terms but mine," he answered immediately.

"Allow me to be blunt. We both know that I can make this easier or more difficult, just as I choose." She tried to say this coolly, as though she often threatened madmen who were prepared to torture her. "I can force you to beat every simple answer out of me, or I can cooperate."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But I will have my answers either way."

She smiled. "And yet as you said, our time grows short.  _Your_  time grows short. And I can easily waste it."

He showed no reaction, either favorable or unfavorable. It was just as likely that he was genuinely considering her words as it was that he was genuinely considering strangling her into submission. "What do you propose?"

"We will both ask questions, and for every answer I give, I will receive one in return."

His eyes narrowed. "Just what do you think this will accomplish? Do you believe I will tell you anything I cannot afford to let you know?"

"Of course not." She didn't, not at all. "But there are basic things I would like to know, things you have neglected to tell me even though my knowing them would have no impact to you."

There was a long moment of silence as he considered her, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't looking  _at_  her but  _into_  her. She felt hot and cold and frightened and so very, very confused.

At length, he nodded. "Very well. But never forget that I control this exchange. When I tire of it there will be no protest."

Alia almost collapsed in relief. She wanted answers at least as badly as he did, and she was pleased with herself for negotiating to get them. Even if agreeing was nothing more than a whim on his part.

"Excellent," she murmured, consciously trying to emulate his commanding tone. "Proceed."

**TBC**

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this movie came out last year and I'm sure no one cares about this fic anymore, but I actually wrote a lot more of this and forgot to post those chapters here. I figured I might as well add them now. If it happens that anyone is still reading this... Let me know, and I'll finish it.

**4**

Any illusion she possessed about having some kind of influence over the situation fled when he dragged the chair from the corner to the center of the room… Then, without warning, did the same to her. His grip on her arm was doubly painful considering that his long fingers put pressure on the new bruises he'd already given her. She disliked the way he controlled her physically, the way he positioned her like a poseable doll. Seated, she felt what she knew he'd wanted her to feel: that she was the one being interrogated, no matter how many questions he allowed her to ask. Well. He'd made the first move, but she'd have the first words.

"You could just tell me, you know," she said, purposely breaking the quiet she was well aware was not meant to be broken. Her voice was not strong but she knew the simple act of speaking was a form of defiance. "Tell me where to go instead of breaking my arm each time you wanted me somewhere."

His face showed no emotion as he grabbed her arms again, fingers unerringly finding their tender little shadows on her skin, and forced her to stand. Their eyes met, and she felt that disconcerting thrill of fear and awareness that always seemed to jolt through her when he was in close proximity. It felt like static, or lightning, electricity dancing on her skin.

"I could," he agreed, then deliberately forced her down once more. Putting her in her place. Her face burned with humiliation, but also anger, neither of which he seemed to notice.

He stepped back and examined her in silence. His gaze skimmed over her, leisurely, thoroughly, and she fought the urge to cross her arms in a gesture of self-protection. She felt so exposed with nothing but the thin hospital tunic between her naked body and his feral eyes. It was obvious he was doing his best to make her as uncomfortable as possible, putting her at yet another disadvantage, and it's not that it wasn't working. But she raised her chin, met his eyes evenly: her pride would not allow her to do otherwise.

Finally, he spoke. "You are aware that you have information I want. You are aware of the lengths I will go to obtain it. If you lie, I will know it."

She nodded nervously. "I am aware."

"Now," he began, "Name, rank and serial number?"

She opened her mouth, tried to think, but there was nothing; she couldn't answer.

"No," he ordered. "Do not think. Simply respond. You are allowing your mind to get in its own way. It knows these facts as unconsciously as your heart knows how to beat. Name. Rank. Serial number."

The words came easily this time, automatically, as if she'd never forgotten. "Zaytseva, Alia Inessa. Lieutenant. 543-043… 043… 043-Something."

"0436 AM," he completed for her.

Of course he'd know more about her than she knew about herself. But then, why ask?

"You were… Testing me," she ventured _._

"Naturally. And I am pleased to know that some information remains or has returned."

If this was him pleased, this deadly intensity, this powerful focus, she hoped never to see him displeased. He pinned her with a sharp look and she felt as though the room had fallen away. That it did not exist, that the entire world had condensed to just the two of them and their game of chess disguised as a game of questions.

Her move.

"Who- and what- are you?" Her eyes never left his face, as his never left hers.

He considered for a moment, gauging, she was sure, how much to reveal. It would be well to remember that he had given her no guarantee of truthfulness. "I am called John Harrison. _Commander_  John Harrison. And I am… Not human. More than human. You would not understand."

Alia barely heard the second half of his revelation. She was too shocked by the knowledge that this man- John- was not just a terrorist but a traitor, a relatively high-ranking traitor who had murdered the very men and women he had sworn to lead.

"Oh, this bothers you, does it?" His rich voice was darkly amused as he stalked lazily about the room. "To know that I attacked not from without but from within?"

She let her contempt show clearly on her face, mouth drawn in a tight line, eyes flashing. "It doesn't bother me," she said evenly. "It  _sickens_  me."

"Do you truly believe that those who control Starfleet act in the best interests of their forces? Of the Federation? You are a fool."

"No," she spat, "But I believe that they ought to."

He bared his teeth in a savage smile. "Perhaps I believe the same."

"And yet you murdered innocents."

"No. Innocence is all a matter of  _whose_  blood is on one's hands. Had I allowed Starfleet Command to point me at a target and use me as a weapon, they would have given me a medal. Every one of those men and women had Starfleet-sanctioned blood on their hands, and that I could not forgive. Now tell me," he continued, halting his pacing directly in front of her, "What, precisely, did you do at Section 31?"

She understood from the force of his regard that this question was vital, understood that for her to have any chance of earning more information from him, she would have to answer it. Unfortunately it was… Unanswerable.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, uneasy. She couldn't even imagine why he'd ask. He, who'd known her name, rank and serial number before she did. Surely he knew his question was wrong?

"Come, it is another simple question. Do not think. You know the ans-"

"It's not a matter of thinking or not thinking," she snapped, shifting restlessly in her seat as he moved closer, intimidating her with the power of his form. "I know that I did nothing at Section 31. I never worked there. I worked at the Kelvin Memorial Archive."

"They are one and the same," he told her. "As you very well know."

"No," she contradicted. "No, they're not. They're…" She trailed off, frustrated. It was so hard to explain, because she knew these things innately but couldn't remember them clearly enough to put the concepts into words. "They're on top of each other. The archive isn't... Fictional or anything. People do work there. I did."

"You disappoint me," he said in that quiet, deadly voice, leaning down so that their faces were level, his perfectly defined mouth so close to hers. Too close, far too close, for her peace of mind. She could feel his heat, feel him breathing, and was afraid. "I had thought to find you more… Cooperative."

She swallowed, her throat dry. "You did. I am. I'm being honest. I cannot help if my answers are not the ones you want to hear. I did warn you."

"Ah. Then show me your honesty." His voice was mocking, as though daring her to attempt her supposed lie once more. "Tell me about the Kelvin Memorial Archive."

"I… It's…" She struggled to explain the rush of feelings and half-formed memories that swirled in her head in answer to his question. "There was obviously something going on, something secret. I knew that. But I didn't have clearance, didn't know what the project was. I was… I don't know what I was. But I was not… Special, am not. My work was within the Archive."

He looked at her for a very long time, trying to read her face, and gave no reaction to her words. "You're lying. You must be lying," he said.

"I'm not," she answered helplessly. For just a moment, there was a brief flash of something in his eyes, something on his face. Of vulnerability, of uncertainty. Suddenly she realized that he needed her to have this information, that it was life and death to him... And to her, which was unfortunate. "Look at me, you know I'm not! You said if I lied you would know, surely you can see I'm telling the truth."

To her immense relief he pulled back just enough to get a full view of her face and stared, arrested. Whatever he saw there- her innocence, she hoped- made him stand fully and turn away, the motion so abrupt she barely caught it. Alia let out a shuddery breath, pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding.

"You cannot be," he muttered, agitated. "You cannot be telling the truth. I saw you there. Below the Archive, in the restricted section. You were not one of mine, I knew you had to be there at Admiral Marcus's behest. That he was using you to get around me."

No. That didn't feel true. "If I was ever there, I don't remember now. But I know I never worked for Admiral Marcus."

"I was practically the head of Section 31," he snapped. "You were either there at my behest or at his. I think I'd know if it was the former."

"John." She deliberately used his name for the first time in hopes that it might soften him. Humanize him. She was not above that slightest level of manipulation, and even went so far as to attempt a pleading look. "Please, tell me. What information could you possibly think I have? And why would you possibly think I have it?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched as he considered whether or not to answer her. Or whether or not to beat her to death with his bare hands. His face was so blank it was difficult to determine.

"I  _know_  you have information about the location of something I require most desperately," he told her, eyes blazing "And I  _know_  because I saw you take it."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

"No," she whispered, staring at her hands in her lap. They seemed to have gone numb, along with the rest of her body. "No. It's not possible. I know it's not possible. I'm not a spy or a thief or… Anything. I'm not what you think I am."

John cupped her chin firmly, tilting her face to force her to look at him again. His eyes were icy blue, bright with the kind of cold so intense it burned to touch.

"Aren't you? I cannot determine if you genuinely don't remember anything or if you are lying. But it is certainly one or the other; there is no possible scenario in which you are wholly innocent."

_Innocence is all a matter of_ whose _blood is on one's hands._  He'd said that, and in a way she supposed it was accurate. Was it possible she herself had…? But no, she couldn't believe that. It was true she could hardly remember anything specific, and the few things she did were jumbled up in her mind. Still, she couldn't shake the thought that she had an essence, a soul, something intrinsic that made her who she had been, who she still was. If she were what he thought she was, she'd feel it.

Wouldn't she?

He released his grip on her face and brushed the back of his hand across her cheek gently, very gently. Alia couldn't help but wonder if it was difficult for him to touch her that way, to remember not to hurt her. And couldn't help but wonder why he'd bother. His fingers trailed down her throat and across her collarbone to catch at the edge of her gown. With a quick tug that left her gasping he pulled it to the side, baring her shoulder, and examined the bruises he'd left there. She shivered at the feel of his light caress as he traced his handprint on her skin.

"You are very fragile, aren't you?" he murmured. "I shall have to be more cautious… When I hurt you, I want it to be deliberate."

Her breath caught at his menacing words, belied by their soft tone. She hated herself for the rush of fear she felt, for her desire to panic. He made her weak, this man, towering over her so broad and strong, casually referencing his plan to deliberately cause her pain. Touching her so carefully.

"And I  _will_  have to hurt you." He almost sounded sorry for it. "I can see that now. You will not cooperate, and I will have no choice."

"I'm trying," she whispered. "I am trying, but I don't remember."

He returned his pale eyes to her face, and she could see the barest hint of confusion in them, as though she were speaking a closely-related yet alien language he couldn't quite comprehend. And still his fingers remained, swirling absently over her skin.

"You state your so-called memories and beliefs with such conviction, I find I almost believe you. But then Admiral Marcus would have chosen you as much for your ability to lie as anything else."

She only wished she were lying. She wished she were a highly trained spy or assassin, that she had secret skills to help get her out of this situation, that there were people on her side looking for her. But she wasn't, she knew she wasn't. In all the world it was the only knowledge she had, and she needed to trust it. Whatever he said, whatever he remembered, there had to be another explanation, because she knew herself. She needed to believe that or she'd go mad.

"I'm not lying," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "And if you have to hurt me to convince yourself of that, I'm-" The words caught in her throat for a moment. "I'm ready."

John finally let his hand fall from her shoulder, leaving it cold and exposed without the warmth of his touch, and again he gave her that look that told her she had confused him. "You are braver than I expected."

She let out a strangled half laugh. "I'm not. I'm terrified."

"And again, more intelligent than your appearance would suggest. You ought to be terrified," he pointed out. "Therefore it is wise that you are."

"Then I must be the wisest person you've ever threatened to torture," she muttered wryly before adding, "Or the luckiest, not to remember. At least I know that no matter what you do I will tell you nothing. Betray no confidences, bear responsibility for no attacks."

In a strange way, she was glad of it. She'd never be able to live with herself, with the awareness that she'd given him information that lead to any of his further acts of terror. Not knowing what it was she supposedly knew the location for, she thought it must be some kind of weapon, something for destroying ever more people ever more efficiently. Yes, she was glad she didn't have to rely on her non-existent bravery alone to protect that knowledge. He, on the other hand, looked suddenly very hard and angry, full lips compressed into a tight line, eyes snapping.

"No.  _No_. You will tell me… You will tell me everything. You must!"

Again she noted the despair in his voice, in his gaze. It wasn't blatant, not the kind of thing most people would have seen, but she was so attuned to his minutest expressions, watching him in fear as she was. In the short time she'd been his captive she'd noted his quicksilver moods, not necessarily betrayed by his every feature but always by his eyes. They were mercurial, changeable, morphing from calm control to amusement to rage in the space of seconds, and she had grown to recognize the signs. He reached for her once more, the speed of the motion suggesting he would not be gentle this time.

"This doesn't make sense." She jerked away from his touch, realizing suddenly what bothered her about his desperation. "This doesn't make sense! I cannot imagine you allowing me to leave Section 31 alive with something so important."

He clenched the hand that had been reaching for her into a fist at his side before running the other through his hair, the only overt outward sign of distress she'd ever seen from him.

"I would not have, but things… Did not go entirely to plan." This admission was made as though against his will, and she could hear the building fury in his tone, his voice deepening with it. "It was the night before my attack. I was... Distracted, I did not realize what was missing until after you were gone, did not realize its importance until the next morning. And when I did…"

She watched his strange, inhuman and inhumanly beautiful face light with some kind of painful ecstasy, joy and sorrow in one, as he swallowed hard against a tide of emotion. "When I did, when I understood, it became my only reason for existing. My  _only_  reason. And you almost took it to hell with you by arriving late, too late for me to intercept you and get you away."

His tone was purely accusatory now, and he was just... Unraveling, in a way she never imagined. There were no words now for what she was feeling. In all the time she had known him, he had been so controlled, even in his anger, but this… Whatever this was, whatever he thought she had- or perhaps just the thought that she didn't have it -was his utter undoing.

"Do you remember your dream?" he asked abruptly. "Dying in my arms? It was a memory. I watched you die, and possibly my hopes with you."

Alia's mind reeled. "But… But, I'm here, I'm alive, I'm not-"

"I brought you back. Do you understand?!" He knelt before her and framed her face with his hands, a mad, fervent look in his eyes that terrified her. "I brought you back from death itself to learn what you know. I will torture you into your grave every day and bring you back every night for the rest of your pathetic life if that's what it takes but  **I will find what I am looking for, and you will lead me to it**."

"Stop," she whispered, horrified that anyone could conceive of such a thing, horrified that it could be true. Horrified that he meant it. "Please, stop, I can't-"

Without warning, he brought his mouth down hard on hers.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

It wasn't a kiss, not really. Even Alia, who couldn't remember if she'd ever been kissed before, knew that. His heated lips pressed against hers with punishing pressure, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth, his fingers threading tightly through her hair, and it wasn't a kiss at all. It was… Well, she couldn't think, so she wasn't quite sure what it was. A primal scream of frustration in physical form, maybe, or a very succinct threat loudly shouted without a word. She parted her lips for him. There was no point in doing otherwise.

His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting her deeply, and she accepted it. The only other option was to fight and she would lose. The electricity she'd felt before when he'd touched her was multiplied, now, his lips on hers forming a closed circuit of energy that left her mind dizzy and her body humming in every cell. But she felt more than energy in his kiss. She felt his rage, his anger, his confusion, all of it pouring from him like blood from a mortal wound, draining out of him and into her until she could hardly stand it.

She lifted her hands to his arms and dug into his flesh with her fingernails, anything to reach him, to stop him, to save herself from this onslaught of emotions he couldn't handle and was forcing on her. But she couldn't handle it either, and it was killing her. Her nails bit deeper in desperation. With a strangled cry he broke away. His fingers released their grip on her hair, and she inhaled deeply again and again, trying to catch her breath. They were both panting as though they'd been running for their lives, or as though she had been and he'd been chasing her to take it.

John opened his eyes and she nearly gasped. Their color, usually some disconcertingly delicate shade of blue or green, was a stormy gray, roiling with all the confusion he'd tried to rid himself of through their kiss. His face, as always, was expressionless. Had it not been for his eyes and the deep, bruised purple of his mouth, and the echoing throbbing of hers, she'd have thought she'd imagined whatever had just transpired. He stared at her and she imagine his mind must be racing as fast as hers, racing like her pulse.

Now, free of the distraction of his lips demanding more and more from her, she could think, analyze, and try to understand. Obviously what he'd done hadn't been planned. But what did it mean? As a threat it was masterful, a very effective way to demonstrate his absolute control over her and her body, to hint at ways he could hurt her beyond torture. And she didn't think it  _wasn't_  a threat. But she also didn't think he'd meant it to be. To her it seemed like an inevitable side effect of the iron control he'd exhibited for the past two weeks. There had been nowhere for his frustration and desperation and despair to go because he'd refused to allow himself to feel those emotions.

And now he just stared, shocked by the loss of that control she imagined he'd fought so hard for.

"I-" he began, and his deep voice was deeper still and slightly roughened. She shivered at the sound of it and now understood that it wasn't entirely from fear.

"What is this really about?" she asked, interrupting him. Her voice too was lower, huskier than usual, with a breathy quality thanks to the fact that she was still panting slightly.

"What?" His reactions seemed slowed, or maybe he was still too dazed to really understand her.

"All of this," she continued, a wave of her hand encompassing the entire room, her captivity and whatever it was they had just shared. "I'd thought… What you're looking for, it must be a weapon. But now-"

He stood suddenly, turning away, and she imagined him slowly rebuilding the wall of his control, brick by solid brick. "I can't tell you what I'm looking for. You  _know_  what I'm looking for."

Alia surprised herself by laughing softly. "You don't believe that, John. You  _did_. And you still want to. But now… You know that even if I once did, I do no longer."

"You don't know what I know," he retorted.

"No," she agreed. "But I felt it. And I will not be a vessel for your desperation."

Slowly, he spun to face her once more. His efforts to rebuild had been successful; his eyes, she could see, were a more familiar pale silver shade, and his face was as cold and remote as ever. But he wasn't, she understood that now, wasn't cold; she'd never felt anything as searing as the heat of his open mouth on hers.

"You will be whatever I want you to be," he told her. "I think you know, now, what that means."

Oh yes, she knew. She could feel the electricity between them, the fear and the something else she couldn't name, drawn taut like a thread, so close to breaking once more.

"I don't care what it means," she lied with all the sincerity she could muster. She cared so much she was shaking with it. But it sounded good. "You'll torture me or you won't, you'll rape me or you won't… And you hope I'll talk, but you know I won't. So tell me. Tell me really. What is this, John? What are you searching for?"

"You would not understand," he said, and there was scorn in his voice. "How could you? You don't remember-"

"So you believe me?" Alia was surprised by this admission, and so... Relieved. She had to exert some iron control of her own to prevent herself from sobbing in gratitude. "You believe I don't remember."

"Of course I believe," he snapped. "And I would advise you not to look so pleased; the fact that you have forgotten will only make your path more difficult in the end. But because you do not remember, you cannot understand. If you have a family, you do not remember it."

"But you remember yours," she stated.

"Of course. I  _had_  a family. They were taken from me." There was no emotion in his voice as he said this, but there didn't have to be… She'd felt everything he felt about it through his lips, through his breath. "I could ask,  _is there anything you would not do for your family_? And you would be unable to answer. But there is nothing  _I_  would not do for mine, what is left of it… And you are all that stands between us."

The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place… And she rather wished they weren't.

He walked slowly to the wall before turning back to her. "Return to bed," he advised. "Tomorrow I will begin questioning in earnest and you will need your strength."

"Questioning?" The fear she'd thought she was free of clawed at her, reaching for her and trying to drag her down into despair. "But you said… I mean, you know I don't remember. You said you believed."

She imagined the expression in his eyes was almost sympathetic. "I do believe. But it will not save you. I will  _make_  you remember, until you wish you had never forgotten."

He walked through the wall that wasn't a wall and was gone.

This was… Not good. Not good at all. Alia drew a deep, shaky breath. She touched her lips with trembling fingers, feeling them swollen and bruised against her skin, before standing unsteadily. But she didn't return to bed as commanded. She moved to the wall he'd walked through, felt the buzzing energy beneath her hand, and tried to think.

She needed a plan. Any plan, any plan at all.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

Alia spent the next several hours- she had no idea how many of them- trailing her fingers across the opaque forcefield, praying so hard for some kind of anomaly to make itself known that she almost believed one would appear, called into existence by the sheer force of her desperation. Surely if desperation could perform such a feat, hers would have. She had never felt an emotion so strong. But it wasn't strong enough to overcome the laws of Newtonian physics and quantum mechanics combined. No matter how she wished, no matter how she prayed, the forcefield showed no signs of a weakness she might exploit. The energy hummed solid and even everywhere she touched; it might as well have been an actual wall for all the chance she had of walking through it the way John was able to.

"But  _how_  are you able to?" she muttered to herself, once more taking comfort from the sound of her own voice as her mind raced. If she were lucky, it would be a key of some kind, something on his person that signaled the forcefield to allow him to pass. In that case there was a chance. Yes, it was a slim one, but it was at least possible that she could get the key and use it to escape. Otherwise, if the energy were somehow able to recognize him through genetic analysis or biometrics, well… Then it was hopeless.

"No way." She refused to believe it was hopeless. As long as she was alive, there was hope, and he'd already told her that even if she died she wouldn't be staying dead for long. When she looked at it that way, his threat to torture her to death and bring her back over and over was downright optimistic. "Always a silver lining."

Exhausted and drained, she made her way back to the hospital bed and slid between the cool sheets. The mattress was soft, enveloping, and the bedding was the same. She allowed herself to melt into the comfort of it, crossing her arms beneath her head and staring up at the ceiling. Her plan to attempt to find whatever key John had wasn't really much of one. It was based on too many assumptions: the assumption that there was a key at all, the assumption that she could get close enough to take it from him, the assumption that he wouldn't notice… It wasn't enough of a sure thing for her to feel entirely comfortable.

"But what else can I do?" she asked the empty room. "How can I… Improve this situation?"

Much as she hated to accept it, she had a very unpleasant feeling that she would not be able to avoid the pain he'd promised her for much longer. She didn't know what exactly he hoped to accomplish, how he intended to make her remember, but whatever he tried she knew it would hurt. And it scared her, because she wasn't sure how well she could bear the pain. (And surely that was a sign that she couldn't be what he said she was... If she were, then she would be brave. Braver than this.) But there had to be a way to at least make things easier for herself, somehow, if she could only think.

"Okay, Alia, okay… What does he want?" That was easy. He wanted information, and that information somehow had to do with his family. She hadn't quite understood what it was he had been talking about, but it seemed to her that he'd lost his family, and all he wanted out of life was to find something that pertained to them somehow- something he thought she had. He wanted it so desperately that it unraveled him, as she'd seen and experienced first hand.

For a moment, she was lost in the memory of their mouths pressed hard together, his lips insistent, demanding, his tongue warring with hers. There had to be some reason why his frustration and rage had taken that specific form, why he'd poured all of his emotions into her that way instead of any other. It wasn't that he wanted her, exactly, though she thought there might be a slight element of that. There was some kind of energy between them, certainly, something that had drawn her to him the first time she'd opened her eyes. But what?

She shook her head slightly, frustrated at the direction of her thoughts. This was about him, not her. He wanted something related to his family; she couldn't give him that. But what was the underlying need there? Why did he want it so badly?

Like dawn breaking over the horizon a new realization flooded her mind. What was it he had said when she asked what he was?  _I am… Not human. More than human. You would not understand._  Presumably his family had been more than human, too, and now he was the only one left. He was alone. Completely alone, and all he wanted was a way to not be alone anymore. To never be alone.

Her heart rate accelerated as she considered this new possibility. She could not give him the information he wanted. But that underlying need, the need for companionship, the need to belong to someone… She could give him that. If she played everything just right, she could give him that. If she could make him see her as an ally, someone as alone as he was… He was loyal. That much was obvious; he would do anything for his family, anything to find them, care for them, protect them. If she could find a way to gain that loyalty for herself…

"What exactly are we talking about here?" she murmured into the darkness. "How can we gain his loyalty?"

Objectively, she looked at the facts. He was alone; she was alone. He was male; she was female. He had kissed her. She couldn't remember specifics, of course, but surely those were excellent conditions for fostering some kind of attachment?

As soon as she thought it, she laughed out loud. John was not a man she could imagine being easily taken in by feminine wiles, and she strongly suspected she didn't really have any, anyway. But there had to be a way to get closer to him, to get him to confide in her. That was the key, she thought. She needed him to talk to her, not just about the information he wanted, but about  _why_  he wanted it. In a strange way, she was his only connection to the family he obviously loved. There had to be something she could do to make that work in her favor. She needed him to open up about his family so that she could… Slip into his thoughts when he wasn't paying attention.

But there was more to it than that. She would have to use his attraction to her. He was attracted, wasn't he? As much as he had kissed her out of anger and rage and frustration, he had still kissed her. For her plan to work, she needed him to do it again. She needed him to want to do it again.

The idea of… seducing him somehow was absurd, considering her precarious situation. He already had complete control over her at the most basic level. Distasteful as the thought was, if he wanted her he could take her and there was nothing she could do about it. But then, that was her problem, wasn't it? She couldn't just make him want her. He had to want her to want him in return.

"Say it, Alia. It's not real until you say it." She hesitated for a moment. It was such an unlikely plan, but it was all she could think of. The only way to protect herself from him, the only way to convince him to let his guard down. Maybe, if he let it down sufficiently, she could find the key she hoped he must have. But this plan went beyond that. If she couldn't find the key, or if there wasn't one, she would still have him until she found a new way to free herself. Protecting her. Not hurting her. "I need to make him care for me."

It was cruel, she realized. To offer him comfort, to offer him a sense of belonging, to make him care for her all to protect herself. It was unkind. But then he was cruel too. She thought back to the first thing she could remember, to the sound and the pain of her entire world collapsing, and knew that whatever cruelty she could manage would be less than he deserved.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains semi-explicit references to torture (no dubcon or noncon).

**8**

She couldn't remember, of course, but it seemed fairly likely to Alia that she enjoyed being proven right as much as anyone else. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that she liked it rather more than most. But not this time. As she eased her aching body into the mercifully warm water in the tub in the center of her room, she thought that she would have given anything to have been wrong about this.

John was… Everything she'd thought he would be. Skilled. Knowledgeable. Superlative.  _Imaginative_. And she wished, intensely, that she knew what he wanted her to know. She would have told him everything without a second thought if it had been in her power. But it wasn't, and he knew it wasn't, and god, she hurt all over.

The water helped the pain but also made things worse. It was impossible to relax into the heated depths without remembering the hours she'd spent in the same tub, naked and shivering, submerged beneath the ice water he'd filled it with. He'd kept her that way for what felt like hours, until her heart grew so sluggish with the cold it almost couldn't be bothered to beat. It hadn't hurt, not then, but later… When he'd wrapped his fingers in her long hair and dragged her out, depositing her on the concrete floor… It should have felt cold, but compared to the liquid she'd been immersed in, it almost burned…

She didn't want to think about it, not any of it. Not the agony, not the pleas, not the towel covering her face and the water he poured over it, not the sensation of drowning despite the lack of water in her lungs… Not any of it. Ever.

It was too… Well, painful, obviously, but also embarrassing in a strange way. She'd wanted to be brave, not just because bravery was a worthy goal (…right?) but because she'd known that for her plan to have any chance of working, she needed to impress him. He was strong, stronger than anyone she could half recall. Surely her weakness had disgusted him. And that disturbed her more than the physical and mental pain. Without her plan, and with the bone-deep knowledge of just how imaginative he could be… She couldn't take it. She'd go stark raving mad long before a new plan could be thought of, much less put into action.

Well. If she couldn't impress him with her strength- and that was clearly off the table- she would have to use his attraction to her somehow. At least now she was sure it existed. Not because of anything he'd done; he'd been, in this one aspect at least, a perfect gentleman, and though he'd made her remove her clothing his touch had never been anything but clinical. It had surprised her, honestly. She'd expected some kind of sexual intimidation if not an actual assault. But it seemed all games of that nature had ended the moment he'd decided to move forward with the business of torturing her, and all of his actions from that point on were almost professional.

Still, there had been that look in his eyes. Something she couldn't name, something hiding behind his translucent gaze. She'd felt it on her, stroking over her curves with an almost palpable touch, soft and warmer than anything so icy and gray should be. It gave her the feeling somehow that he admired her. And never once, in all the time he spent hurting her so precisely, had she gotten the feeling he was enjoying it.

It had stunned her. He'd certainly seemed to enjoy threatening her, and he was obviously skilled at causing pain. Skilled enough to make her think he loved it. But there had been no pleasure in his expression, no matter what he did or how she cried. His angular face had been, as always, carefully blank, but Alia had noticed his jaw clenching at times, as though he wanted to wince with her in sympathy.

She couldn't help but think how skewed her standards had become, that the fact that someone had not enjoyed torturing her was an encouraging sign for the future.

"Stop thinking," she advised herself, her voice hoarse from her earlier screaming. "You'll drive yourself crazy. Crazier."

"Something to avoid, certainly."

With a gasp, she turned, just in time to watch the object of her thoughts walk through the forcefield wall as though it wasn't there. (But how? How?!)

The sound of his voice had always affected her. More than anything else it was entwined in her hazy memory with the sound of the collapse she couldn't quite recall, as though his voice alone had brought down the Kelvin Memorial Archive like the walls of Jericho.

But now there was more than simple abstract fear. He'd spoken to her as he'd hurt her. Asked her questions, assured her he would not relent. And because of this those deep, resonant syllables hurt her in a way that was almost physical. She couldn't help folding in on herself in the tub, covering her breasts and sex as best she could despite knowing there was no point. He'd opened her to him with the pain he'd dealt, caused her to show him the most secret parts of herself because she couldn't help it. Because there was nothing so raw, so true, as a human writhing in agony begging for it to stop.

He approached her in a controlled manner, clearly trying not to startle her, and it's not that she was afraid, not really. Not consciously anyway. But just the sight of him there, tall and broad and eerily beautiful, filled her with dread.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, and he sounded vaguely annoyed. "I assure you, you will have ample warning before I do."

Alia forced herself to relax as much as she was able while still keeping her nakedness somewhat covered. "But only because you enjoy the build-up."

"No," he denied as he dragged the lone chair close to the tub. "Only because the build-up is an effective tool. Do you believe I enjoyed any of what I did to you?"

 _No._  "I believe you're capable of enjoying it."

"Every man is," he snapped. "And some women too. Do not mistake a certain skill at savagery for enjoyment of the same."

She had no response for this. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him, curious, trying to read his thoughts on his face. It was an utterly pointless exercise of course; his features, now more than ever, were perfectly arranged to give away nothing at all. Still she thought there was something below the surface, something weary and almost human, visible only in the slight tightening of his mouth.

"You are… Something of an enigma," he murmured eventually, barely loud enough to be heard over the lapping of water at the lip of the tub and the fluttering of her heart. "You should have broken today."

"I would have," she said quietly. "I wish I could have."

"If your amnesia were organic, a result of your injuries, everything I did today would have destroyed those defensive walls. Should have, easily."

She turned to face him, meeting those icy eyes she feared. "I don't understand."

"Your memory loss was no accident," he clarified. "I believe your memory was wiped well before I found you."

"But why? By whom?" Alia had the disorienting feeling that her life was like a set of nesting dolls, layer upon layer of intrigue, and she couldn't help but wonder what would be left of her when the last doll was opened. Would something remain, a tiny carved figurine, or would it be empty?

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains semi-explicit references to torture as well as themes of dubcon and noncon.

**9**

The enormity of her situation threatened to overwhelm her. There was so much she didn't know, so much she needed to know, and she had no idea where to start. And that was ignoring the fact that she was at the questionable mercy of a terrorist who had just spent an entire day torturing her with consummate thoroughness.

For one horrifying moment, she feared she might cry.

John seemed not to notice. "More and more I believe we share a common enemy. Surely you can see the connection?"

"Right now I feel as though I don't see anything," she answered, maneuvering awkwardly into a sitting position while keeping as much of the essentials covered as possible. Her hair fell heavy around her face and shoulders like a wet velvet curtain. "But if you were correct… What would we do about it?"

"Perhaps I have been going about this in the… less effective way," he said. Alia got the feeling he was avoiding the word  _wrong_  even though that was what he meant. "We have been here, wasting time, while our mutual enemy has been able to plan and prepare."

The look he gave her was almost accusatory, as though it were all her fault that he'd dropped a building on top of her and she'd been human enough to be injured by it.

"Who has? To plan for what? To prepare for what?" she demanded, frustration rising within her. She hated feeling so helpless, so out of control, and she hated the superior expression on his austerely beautiful face. "You're so cryptic, speaking in riddles, and honestly I just don't have the energy to try to figure out what you mean. Just... Say it, if you can. Or leave me alone. I have some torture to recover from, as you might remember."

A week before, a day before, even 12 hours before, she would have been terrified to speak to him in this way. But at this point, it seemed she had nothing to lose. What could he do that he hadn't done already? Even the anger kindling in his eyes, melting their ice into a gray that was somehow blazing, didn't frighten her. Or at least, didn't frighten her more than anything else.

" _You_  might recall that you are in no position to make demands," he advised her, leaning closer, his voice sending shivers through her despite the warmth of the water in the tub.

She met his stare evenly, trying to ignore the fact that instead of simply feeling naked before him she actually was. It hardly mattered anyway. He'd seen everything already, and while she didn't believe he'd been unmoved by it he'd still maintained his distance. Of course, there was no distance now, not with his face so close to hers.

"And yet I'm making one," she said. "After what happened today, I think I deserve some answers."

He flinched, or rather just barely made an expression that might have been a flinch, which was his version of one. She couldn't help but wonder what it meant that he'd react that way. Did he feel anything about what he'd done to her? Anything other than that it was a waste of time? A part of her wanted to believe that he regretted it.

He narrowed his eyes at her, expression hardening. With one hand, he made a gesture that encompassed the entire room and somehow her entire experience with him. "Maybe this is what you deserve."

The words struck her like a physical blow, hurting almost as much as the carefully administered bruises he'd given her. Did he know how that statement would affect her? Did he know that it was her greatest fear, to find in the end that she was everything he'd believed she was, and nothing she felt herself to be? She recoiled from him.

"Oh," he murmured, suddenly amused. "It bothers you, does it? The thought that perhaps we are not so different? Or is it the possibility that while I at least am fighting for what is dearest to me, you debased yourself as a villain's lackey for nothing more than a lieutenant's paltry pay grade?"

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't."

But he'd heard those words from her before, over and over, through cries and tears, and they had no effect on him. "Don't what? Speak the truth?"

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the force of his gaze any longer. "Don't get inside my head."

There was the sound of his chair scraping against the concrete floor, the rustle of fabric as he knelt by the tub, and then the feel of his hand, warmer than expected, sliding across her throat and into her hair. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer, or perhaps it was the attraction between them alone that did it. It was impossible to deny that she was drawn to him, pulled to him as if by gravity. She knew she should be thinking of her plan, thinking of a way to turn this to her advantage, but all she could think was that she was so tired. Tired of this game of cat and mouse, tired of attempting to be one step ahead of him yet falling constantly behind.

"But inside your head is where I need to be, Alia," he said, the sound of his voice very near.

She raised her lids to see that he was mere inches from her, though her awareness of him, alive in every cell of her body, had told her as much already. There was an intensity to his expression as he drank in the sight of her face that was perhaps the only thing capable of frightening her now. It made her feel that as much as he was using his physicality as an intimidation tactic, it was possible he was as powerless against the force pulling them together as she was. The thought of him, powerless, was terrifying. She knew what was about to happen, and she didn't care about her plan. After all she had been through, she wasn't sure she could bear the pressure of his mouth on hers again.

"Don't," she whispered once more, the syllable just as futile as ever, and she closed her eyes again because she couldn't stand the thought of watching him close the short distance between them. The anticipation she felt was dizzying, almost disorienting, and not at all pleasant. It reminded her of hours before, when her hands had been bound and he'd draped a towel across her face, and she'd lain, prone, waiting endlessly for the flood of water she knew would be like drowning.

His lips met hers, and she was drowning again. The earlier intensity in his quicksilver eyes was matched by the intensity of his kiss, by the hot press of his mouth, bruising as he tried and failed to be careful of her. She was surrounded by him, by the feel of his hands clutching desperately at her hair, by the clean, dark scent of him, by his taste, impossible to define. She couldn't breathe, except through him, could only inhale him, and it felt like defeat.

He held her firmly, angling her head to allow better access to her lips as he pushed his tongue between them. Her only coherent thought was that he kissed the way he hurt her: precisely, with devastating thoroughness, leaving no part of her mouth unexplored. It was… Not a comforting analogy.

She kept herself rigid in his arms, allowing herself to be kissed but not participating any more than she could help. It wasn't wise, she knew, wasn't part of her plan, but she couldn't force her common sense to override her body. As much as she felt the pure electricity of his touch coursing through her veins, she also felt all of the helplessness of her situation, and the fear of that.

John pulled away, barely, just enough to speak though his lips brushed hers with every syllable. "Kiss me back," he ordered, usually smooth voice roughened, and she knew if she were wise she would comply.

Instead, she shook her head, inching away as much as his hold would allow. "Don't," she begged. "I can't-"

He brought his mouth down on hers again, more insistent, more demanding, and she wrenched away, gasping. "I can't breathe." And she couldn't, not choking on her panic as she was.

Releasing her, he rocked back on his knees, vulnerability and desire both in his eyes for a heart-stopping instant before his expression shuttered. He watched, expressionless, as she drew gulp after gulp of air into her lungs until her panic receded.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, voice cutting, for all the world as though she'd been the one to kiss him so desperately, to demand he kiss her back.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

"Fine." He stood in a single smooth motion, all deadly grace, and left without another word.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

She was being chased, which was bad, and there was only one place for her to go, which was worse. Whoever was after her knew, had to know, that the Kelvin Memorial Archive was her only option. It was the only location in all of London where she might be safe. Actually, it was the only location in all of London that she could remember, the only one that existed as far as she was concerned, and that… Didn't seem right. But she couldn't examine that now. She had to run.

_Why am I running?_

Without slowing her pace, she tried to think, but all she could remember was running. She had always been running, always been pursued. Had come into the world running, would leave it running. And would leave it faster than she'd like if she didn't stop thinking and focus on escape. Someone was chasing her, still, again, had always been chasing her, and if she didn't evade them… Something would happen. Something bad?

_Doesn't matter. Just run._

Her feet flew across the pavement as London rushed past. She knew it was London, somehow, and it was beautiful, but not familiar. Nothing was familiar, not a single landmark, and though she cut through back alleys and ducked into unlabeled side streets with the ease and thoughtlessness of someone intimately acquainted with the area, she didn't know the way. It just seemed impossible that her path could take her anywhere but where she needed to go, because that was all there was.

It didn't seem right, none of it did, but it didn't matter. She could feel eyes on her, could feel them close behind, following. All she knew in all the world was that she could not allow herself to be caught, even if she didn't know why. With a gasp she increased her speed, pushing herself beyond what she'd thought was her point of endurance, every muscle in her body screaming for rest, her lungs screaming for oxygen. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, impossibly fast, impossibly loud.

She rounded the corner and felt her exhaustion melt away as she beheld the most beautiful sight she could ever remember seeing: the Archive, rising tall and stately at the end of the promenade. It was still farther away than she'd want, but now at least she knew she would reach it. She could maintain or even improve on her pace, of course; nothing hurt anymore, not with safety so close at hand. So she did what she did best, the only thing she'd ever done or ever could do, and ran. With every step the building grew, showing its true size as she approached, and she was close, close, closer…

And the world fell apart.

And she fell apart.

And there was nothing but the sound, the incomprehensible sound, of everything collapsing, overlaid with a voice that echoed in her mind:

"Get up. Get up."

Alia opened her eyes.

xXx

"Get up."

John was leaning over her, near but not too near, and holding her down, hard but not too hard. She looked up into his face. The half-light cast interesting shadows across the harsh planes and angles that defined his features, highlighting his high, sharp cheekbones and the hollows beneath, hiding his mouth in darkness. He had kissed her, she remembered suddenly, irrelevantly. Twice. Or had that been a dream? No, that had been reality, but she  _had_  dreamed…

She sat up in the bed and he allowed it, dropping his hands from her shoulders immediately and moving away. As much as she was grateful for this distance, she was confused; he'd never missed a chance to physically intimidate her before. The thought that he might possibly feel awkward about what he had done was too ridiculous to consider, but in the end it didn't matter. If he kept his distance, it was all to the good. She couldn't think clearly with him close.

"What's going on?" she asked, wondering why he had woken her. She couldn't be certain but she didn't think she'd cried out.

"We have to leave," he said, and there was urgency in his rich voice. "Now."

With a start, she realized that in place of the plain black shirt and pants that were all she'd ever seen him wear, he was now dressed in a charcoal hooded tunic and darker trousers underneath a long black leather coat.

"What?" It was true that for the last several days she'd thought often of leaving, but the reality of it had seemed so impossible. This room was all she knew; was there even anywhere else to go? Well, of course there was, had to be, but it didn't feel that way.

" _Now_ ," he repeated, gesturing to the foot of the bed where a stack of clothing awaited her. "It's taken far longer than it should have for them to track me, but the pathetic analysts at Starfleet have finally done it. We cannot remain here."

She grabbed the neatly-folded items, relieved at the idea that she would finally have some kind of armor, something more than a thin hospital gown between her bare flesh and his eyes. The black leggings, silver cowl-neck tunic and deep purple leather jacket were a more feminine version of his own outfit, and he had thoughtfully provided a matching set of undergarments as well. They were black, plain, devoid of any decoration, and no one could have called them sexy. In a way she was glad he hadn't given her anything meant for seduction (though maybe that would have been preferable, if she had any hope of salvaging her plan).

Standing, she hesitated. She felt light-headed, clumsy, slow, still halfway lost in her dream. Not two minutes before, she had still been asleep, running from some unknown, unseen danger, and now this. It was just… Very sudden, too sudden for her exhausted mind to immediately grasp.

He glared at her, anger and frustration radiating from him. "I have neither the time nor the inclination to tell you again."

The threat in his voice was enough to bring her fully awake, but she hesitated still. Surely he didn't expect her to strip with him standing there?

"Turn around." It was meant to be a command but came out weak and with an implied question mark.

The hard look on he gave her in response clearly told her he would do no such thing. "Dress yourself, quickly," he ordered, "Or I will dress you."

Her throat went dry as she imagined both scenarios. Neither was ideal, but the thought of his elegant hands on her, fingers brushing over her skin, the electricity of contact between them... It frightened her even as it intrigued her, and she knew without a doubt that it was the wrong choice. Hesitantly, she reached for the hem of her gown.

He watched as she pulled it off, eyes and face carefully blank, but she could feel the heat in his gaze as well as she could have felt the heat in his hands if he'd undressed her himself. Before, when he'd tortured her, her nakedness had been merely incidental, his interest purely clinical despite the admiration she suspected he felt. This was completely different, as though she were performing a striptease for a lover, and now she wondered if she hadn't made the wrong choice after all. He was enjoying it, she thought, enjoying having her at his mercy and drinking in the sight of her body even though he gave no outward sign of this at all. She knew him well enough by now to know that very little he thought or felt ever showed in his expression. And she knew he wanted her.

Partly out of defiance and partly because of her plan, she met his eyes, refusing to look away or cover herself. She felt vulnerable- was vulnerable- standing there on display for him, but refused to allow herself to show it. In a way, she reasoned, there was power in this, in using her body and his own desire as a weapon against him. And that was the difference, she supposed, between the two scenarios she'd been offered. His hands on her made her weak, but the sight of her, naked, weakened him.

It seemed she'd made the right choice after all.

She dressed herself as slowly as she dared under his watchful gaze. The tension in the room increased, coiling tighter and tighter until she was afraid it would snap, but he said nothing. Just stared, following her movements with eyes that were hot and dark and tumultuous with emotions she couldn't even begin to examine. Didn't want to examine. It was her need to avoid the force of those emotions that caused her to finally look away.

Once dressed, she wasn't quite sure what to do. He still stood there, unmoving, and somehow she couldn't bring herself to break the silence between them. So she made her way towards the false wall, intending to wait there until he was ready to show her how to walk through it. As she passed him, his arm shot out and he grabbed her wrist, nearly crushing it in the grip of his long fingers. She cried out, both in pain and surprise, and turned to face him.

There was that intense look on his face again, the same look he'd given her before he'd kissed her, and she half expected him to pull her against his chest and ravish her mouth once more. She would kiss him back, she decided. She would use whatever tools she had at her disposal to make her plan a success.

"You forgot your boots," he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. It sent a shiver down her spine the same way his touch sent shivers throughout the rest of her body.

"Oh," she whispered, heart pounding. She felt dizzy and oddly let down after the mental preparations she'd made. "I- I didn't see them."

He gestured towards the bed, and she noticed for the first time a pair of black leather boots tucked just underneath.

"Put them on," he ordered with a wry twist of his full lips. " _Quickly_  this time."

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

She couldn't count the number of times she'd opened her eyes to find John staring down at her. Ever since he'd taken her- which was to say, ever since she could remember- it seemed to happen more often than not. Consciousness would come in its own good time but chances were he'd be standing by, waiting for her to awaken. It was almost routine by now. It was almost boring to meet his near colorless eyes and realize she'd been sleeping.

But something was different this time.

The room, for one, was not the cell she'd become accustomed to. More worrisome however was the fact that it was out of focus and spinning lazily around her, or maybe she was spinning, bobbing and turning like a leaf caught in a river's eddy. He was out of focus too, peering into her face with an expression that might have been concern if she could see it clearly.

"Stand still," she muttered, and her tongue felt thick and heavy, her lips not quite hers. She couldn't understand where she was, what she was feeling, or why. The last thing she could recall was a hot flush of embarrassment and a pair of black leather boots…

"You will be fine in a moment," he informed her. "If you are dizzy, do not try to sit up. These side effects of the sedative will wear off momentarily."

That caught her attention, cutting through the lethargic haze she was wrapped in, distracting her from the low throbbing beginning in her temples. "Sedative? What sedative?"

Against his instructions, she pushed herself into a sitting position, then closed her eyes and swallowed hard to fight the sick feeling in her stomach.

"The sedative I gave you before our escape," he answered, as though it were obvious. "I injected you when you turned to get your boots."

Her eyes flew open and she glared at him with all the fury she could muster. "You are such a bastard."

He sneered at her, face hardening in contempt. "There were no other options. We had to leave, quickly, and I could not waste time devising a means to prevent you from escaping."

"So you drugged me into unconsciousness without my consent," she summarized. "Again."

"And would you have consented?" he demanded, the question obviously rhetorical. "No? To any of what I've done? No? Do not try my patience with petty complaints."

Alia was almost grateful for the anger she felt. The heat of it seemed to burn through the final aftereffects of whatever drug he'd given her.

"Of course I wouldn't have consented. And I didn't, not to any of it, but… It's different, different from everything else." She stopped herself from continuing. "It doesn't matter. You don't care."

"I do not," he agreed easily. "And it is no different. I must control you as I see fit."

She looked at him standing there, so tall and proud and handsome and  _strong_ , and laughed bitterly. "You wouldn't understand. You've never known helplessness like this. But I swear to you, John, somehow, someday, I'll see you made helpless. And I really think I'll enjoy it."

It might have been an empty threat, but she realized as she said it that it didn't feel like one. She didn't quite understand where all this rage had come from, but she was grateful for it. It was freeing to feel something other than confusion and fear.

"I have been helpless," he told her, gravely. "Am helpless. Will remain so, until I find what I am looking for… Until you lead me to it. So enjoy it if you can. But never underestimate what I will do to keep you in my power until that day comes."

There was something poignant in his tone as he spoke, something dark and heavy weighing down a voice that was dark and heavy already. It reminded her that no matter how composed he seemed, at any given moment his desperation lay in wait inside of him. She'd seen it, felt it, touched it with her lips. He could be undone… She had done it. And she could use it, if she could just determine how.

Her plan, such as it was, had been a failure so far. But she didn't believe the fault lay with the plan itself. The fault lay with her, with her execution of it, but she had nothing but time. Somehow, she would get inside of him. She would make him come undone and then make him up again in the image of someone whose weakness was her. If it was possible she would hurt him. For everything he'd done to her, she would. And she would be free.

"I can't promise not to try to escape," she said when the silence stretched too long. She knew he imagined she would attempt some daring and physically taxing bit of stupidity, such as running from him, and she wouldn't rule it out necessarily. But she doubted he expected that her best way out was through him.

"If you believe there is anywhere you can go to be truly free of me, you are not as intelligent as I thought. I would tear the universe apart to find you, and you would regret it when I did." His voice never sounded so soft, or so beautiful, as it did when he was threatening her.

This time, her laugh was genuine. "Believe me, I regret it already."

"As well you might," he answered, and she imagined there was a hint of humor in his face for the barest second before it disappeared again. "But do not think you can escape me. And do not think you should. You would not be safe, either from me or anyone else."

She was immediately reminded of her dream, of the feeling of pursuit. If she'd had the chance to think about it at all, she'd have assumed that he was the one chasing her… But she realized suddenly that there was no evidence to support that conclusion. No evidence to refute it, either, of course, but… "What do you mean?"

"Believe me," he began, his mouth compressed into a thin, grim line. "You are far safer in my custody than with those who are against me."

"Am I?"

He narrowed his pale eyes at her as though trying to judge whether she were serious in her questioning. "Until I know what you know, you are more important, more precious to me than my own life. Anyone who thinks to take you from me will have to kill me to do it."

The unspoken  _And that is highly unlikely_  lingered in the silence following his vow.

She knew, of course she knew, that his words had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the information he believed she had, but they still made her feel… Something. She wasn't sure what, and wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"You would do well to remember it," he added pointedly. "Any attempt to escape me would be… Unwise."

The only possible response she could make would do nothing but force the conversation to loop back on itself, an ouroboros of his threats and her defiance and really it was pointless. She had no desire to remind him yet again that she would certainly attempt escape if given half a chance. Instead, she allowed her focus to wander from him, examining the room they inhabited for the first time.

Much like her previous cell, it was mostly empty, containing only her bed with nightstands flanking it. The walls were pale gray and blank (reminding her uncomfortably of the eyes she could still feel trained on her face), but there was a window draped in sheer gray fabric, and through it she could see the lights of a city skyline.

Her heart rate accelerated suddenly as she realized the implications. She was no longer trapped in a bunker, isolated. She was near some kind of civilization. She was freer now than she had ever been in all the time he'd held her.

"Where are we?" she asked, trying to keep the excitement from her voice.

He tilted his head to the side and almost smiled. "Do you not recognize it? We are in your flat in London."

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I stopped last year. I have notes for the next few chapters but never wrote them. If you'd like me to keep writing, please just let me know... I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed writing this, and wouldn't mind continuing, but if there's no interest I'm content to focus on other endeavors. Please let me know your thoughts.


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